


purple violets, scarlet sage

by wesninski



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Fluff, Getting Together, Language of Flowers, Listen it's just sweet, M/M, Tattoos, these boys are just happy okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 05:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11844552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesninski/pseuds/wesninski
Summary: "I thought you were here to buy some flowers for once," Matt says with a good-natured grin, "instead of just flirting with my best employee."Neil blinks.He says, “Andrew’s not flirting with me.”At the same time, Andrew says, “stay out of it, Boyd.”Neil stares at Andrew. Andrew stares back.Matt, smile fading, says, “oh.”Or: the flower shop/tattoo parlor au you all know you want





	purple violets, scarlet sage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alwaysayes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysayes/gifts).



> I signed up to be a pinch hitter for the aftgexchange, and this is my gift for stantaire on tumblr!
> 
> They asked for a florist/tattoo shop au for andreil and just something happy where no one is hurting. I,,, mostly delivered.
> 
> Sorry you got your gift so very, very late, and I hope you enjoy!

The gentle sound of the bell over the door is, as always, a comfort. In the past, it had meant _‘you control the exits,’_ it meant _‘you know who comes and goes,’_ it meant _‘safety.’_ Now, eight months since the FBI placed him in witness protection and two months into the Butcher’s life-long imprisonment, it meant Allison planning another party, it meant Nicky ordering more long-distance deliveries for his boyfriend, it meant Wymack arriving with coffee and gruff compliments. It meant _safety_ more than ever, but it also meant _friends_ and _warmth_ and _home_.

At the sound, Neil looks up from the arrangement he’s preparing, his customer service smile stretching wide and fake across his face. When he sees who’s entered, though, it fades into something smaller, more genuine.

“I thought you were all booked up today,” he calls out. “Don’t tell me you’re neglecting your customers just to lurk over here.”

Andrew Minyard, co-owner of _The Foxhole_ and arguably the best tattoo artist in town (Kevin Day, after all, would never be the same with his right hand), scoffs as he approaches the counter. “Aaron’s taking care of the basic stuff. It’s not like they even notice he’s not me.”

Neil can’t imagine not being able to tell the difference between Andrew and his twin. Andrew is strong and steady and real. He has a presence unlike anyone else Neil’s ever met.

He stops fussing with a sprig of ivy to watch Andrew approach. “So, what, you decided to take a break to come bother me?”

“I’ve got to keep an eye on you,” Andrew drawls as he leans against the counter. He’s just a little too close to Neil, but Neil isn’t bothered enough by it to step back. “You’re likely to run off the second my back is turned.”

“I’m not running anymore,” Neil says evenly. Andrew is one of three people in the entire state to know Neil’s true background - the others being his FBI handler and Kevin, who had stumbled upon the fact of Neil’s continued existence. According to Andrew, Kevin had been so shaken at the sight of his childhood friend that Andrew had to make sure Neil wasn’t a threat to them or their business. He’d barged into Neil’s carefully manufactured life and tore apart his carefully manufactured lies and Neil couldn’t bring himself to begrudge him for any part of it.

Andrew, through games of truth and shared cigarettes, knows better than any that Neil no longer has any reason to run. Still, his gaze is intense on Neil’s. “So you say,” he says slowly, almost musing, “but it’s in your blood, rabbit. You can’t really expect me to believe this flower shop is enough to make you stay.”

“ _The Court_ isn’t just a flower shop,” Matt’s voice rings out before Neil can do more than blink dumbly in reply. “It’s an event and lifestyle boutique, your one-stop shop for any and all event needs.” He comes bustling out of the back, carrying a giant box of freshly prepared displays. He sets it down in the window with a groan before turning to take in their customer with a grin. The grin slides into a wry smile when Matt sees who it is. “Oh, it’s just Andrew.”

Andrew’s dry look could put a desert to shame. “Yes,” he says, “it’s just me.”

Matt rolls his eyes as he crosses to join Neil behind the counter. Andrew steps back and Neil, for a brief second, misses his warmth. “You know what I mean,” Matt says with a good-natured grin, “I thought you were a customer. Unless you’re actually here to buy some flowers for once, instead of just flirting with my best employee.”

Neil blinks.

He says, “Andrew’s not flirting with me.”

At the same time, Andrew says, “stay out of it, Boyd.”

Neil stares at Andrew. Andrew stares back.

Matt, smile fading, says, “oh.” He looks between Neil and Andrew. “Um,” he ventures into the thick silence, “Dan’ll be in soon. I can cover the counter for a while, Neil, if you want to take a break.”

Normally, Neil wouldn’t take a break for another hour and a half. Normally, he would protest that he’s fine, he can keep working.

Now, he wordlessly removes his apron and hangs it on the hook just inside the back room, the movements automatic as his mind whirls. Andrew likes him. _Andrew likes him._

“You like me,” he says three minutes later, finally breaking the tension that persisted even as Andrew followed Neil into the back alley and lit up a cigarette.

Andrew blinks slowly, his face blank. Ash crumbles off his cigarette, and Neil sees that his knuckles have turned white around it. “I hate you,” he says, and Neil relaxes fractionally. This is familiar ground.

“So,” he hesitates, “so Matt was wrong about you flirting with me?”

Andrew takes a drag of his cigarette. He holds the smoke in his mouth long enough that it must burn before he finally exhales into the humid summer evening. The smell, as always, calms Neil.

“He wasn’t wrong,” Andrew says, and Neil is no longer calm.

“But you hate me.” Neil is desperately confused, but Andrew says this often enough that Neil knows it as fact.

There’s an odd expression on Andrew’s face, in the corners of his eyes and the twitch of his mouth. Long-suffering, maybe, or annoyance. If it were on anyone else, Neil would call it nervousness. “Every inch of you,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you.”

The ground lurches beneath Neil’s feet.

“Oh,” he says.

“Oh,” Andrew repeats. His mouth twists and he stubs his cigarette, only half-finished, out on the brick of the alley wall. “Nothing will come of it.”

Neil doesn’t know how to deal with this, barely understands what _this_ is, but the conviction in Andrew’s voice makes him frown. “Why not?”

A beat passes in still silence, then Andrew turns to face him head on for the first time since they stepped into the alley. “You don’t swing,” he says flatly, something he’d learned within ten minutes of observing Neil in Nicky’s presence, “and I’m not stupid.”

For a long moment, Neil is frozen in shock. Andrew, next to him, is a live wire of thrumming tension, but he doesn’t leave. He’s waiting, Neil realizes, for Neil to say something. That, finally, pushes the words from the hot, molten spot in his chest out into the air between them.

“I don’t swing,” he agrees, and Andrew goes very still. “I don’t look at Nicky or Allison or Matt or Renee or Kev-”  
“I get it.” The words are spat through grit teeth. Andrew thinks this is a rejection, and a cruel one at that.

It isn’t, and Neil continues, faster, “I don’t look at them, and I won’t ever look at them, but I look at you.” It's awkward, these messy, half-formed truths thrust into the daylight before their time, but Andrew has stopped breathing next to him, and Neil says, “I've never felt anything like this before, and honestly I have no idea what I'm doing but,” he hesitates, forges forward with the knowledge that comes from the core of him, “I like you, Andrew.”

Andrew steps away. Neil, watching him desperately, sees his chest heave. “Don’t,” he says. His fists clench at his sides, then he spins, points at Neil. “Don’t lie to me, rabbit.” His typical calm expression is gone, torn by lines of fury and pain.

Neil takes a step forward, then another, until Andrew’s finger is pushing into his chest. Andrew watches without moving, and they both stare, transfixed, at the point of contact for a moment. “I’m not lying,” Neil says, very quietly.

Andrew snatches his hand away, but not before Neil sees the way it’s trembling. He stares at Neil for a long, silent minute. Neil stares back and sees the way Andrew forcibly eases the tension from his shoulders, wipes the lines from his face.

“I want to kiss you,” Neil says, and the tension returns.

“You don’t know what you want,” Andrew shoots back immediately.

“Yes, I do.” Neil takes another step towards Andrew, and they’re close now, close enough that if Neil could breathe deep through the lump in his throat, their chests would brush. “I want you, Andrew.”

He’s certain, now. He knows what these past months of shared cigarettes and secrets and trust mean, what the ball of heat and hope and affection in his chest means.

Maybe that certainty shows in his gaze, or maybe Andrew stops denying himself good things, or maybe for a glorious moment in that late summer air they both choose happiness, but he reaches up and wraps a hand around Neil’s neck. Neil goes easily, softly, his hands tucked in his back pockets and his lips pliant against Andrew’s.

And it’s good. It’s so, so good.

Later, long after Neil’s break should have ended, and halfway into their second cigarette, Andrew says, casually, “I still hate you.”

Neil doesn’t try to suppress his smile. “That’s okay.”

* * *

**Three Years Later**

Andrew’s fingers brush, feather-light, over the freshly inked skin on the nape of Neil’s neck. It’s not the first tattoo Andrew’s given him, and it won’t be the last, Neil’s sure. His skin, between the mottled scars, is and always will be Andrew’s canvas. This is, however, the first time he hasn’t shown Neil the design beforehand. He’d refused to give even a hint at what the new tattoo would be, and Neil hadn’t pushed. Trust is no longer such a foreign concept to him, especially not with Andrew.

There’s a clatter from the doorway as Nicky enters. “Andrew, your three o’clock appointment is- oh.” Neil can’t see Nicky, but he hears his gasp and the way he’s gone still in the cramped room. “Oh, Andrew-”

“Get out, Nicky.” There’s a bite to Andrew’s voice; Neil recognizes it for the hint of vulnerability it is.

Nicky mumbles apologies and backs out of the room. “What-?” Neil twists towards Andrew, but he puts his hand firmly on the small of Neil’s back.

“Hold still. I’m almost done.”

Neil settles again without protest. True to his word, Andrew is wiping off the area around the new tattoo within a few minutes. As far as Neil can tell, it’s not very large, just very detailed.

He’s desperately curious about it, but Andrew reaches for plastic wrap to cover it up before Neil’s even sitting upright yet.

“Wait,” Neil says, his fingers brushing over the intricate tattoos on Andrew’s wrist. “I want to see it.”

Andrew hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking over Neil’s face in a moment of uncharacteristic worry. Then he nods shortly and hands Neil a mirror.

Grinning, Neil puts his back to the mirror hanging on the wall and angles himself so he can see his new tattoo in the hand mirror.

The grin drops off his face.

An infinity sign curls across the nape of Neil’s neck. Blooming off of the thin green ink in small clusters are purple African violets, and woven around them are bunches of scarlet sage. Although they aren’t flowers that Neil handles often, he recognizes the meanings instantly.

Violets - _loyalty, devotion._

Scarlet sage - _forever mine._

Wrapped around an infinity symbol as they are, it’s not a hard message to read.

And Neil had known they were forever, he knew since that summer day behind _The Court_ , but this- This-

“Andrew,” Neil says. It comes out strangled, choked with the emotion rising in Neil’s throat, and the sound is enough to make Andrew look up from where he’d been staring determinedly at his tools.

There’s worry in the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, vulnerability tugging at the corner of his mouth. Neil strides toward him, and the worry increases, turns to alarm. And then Neil’s reaching for him, and stopping just a hairsbreadth away. And Andrew’s nodding, fear fading into confusion. And Neil’s kissing him desperately, and Andrew’s surging into him, and this is forever, and they both know it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For the tattoo, envision something like [this](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/44/d2/4f/44d24f1c32ce44532539095093910eb1.jpg) except smaller and with different flowers.
> 
> You can find me shitposting on my [tumblr!](http://nwesninski.tumblr.com)
> 
> Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated, as I'm still very new to writing for aftg!


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